A Whateley Academy Tale
Insanity Prerequsite
Part 3: Metamorphosis
By Dr. Bender and Renae
Chapter
6 – Integration
Donna
threw herself screaming out of bed, pure agony searing through her forearm. Her
shoulder bounced off a mahogany bookcase, the impact thrusting her across the
floor. Half rolling, half crawling, she pulled herself across the threshold
into the master bathroom, scraping her knee on the slick metal divider between
white tile and the cream carpet.
The cold,
hard, discomfort of smooth tile pressed against soft skin was nothing compared
to the pain embedded in her flesh as she reached over the rim of the bath to
yank open the polished brass tap marked in blue. Forcing her arm under the
running water, the psychologist screeched as steam billowed from the wound, the
cold water exploding into vapour at the merest touch.
Finally,
gasping for breath, laying naked half in the tub, half on the bathroom floor,
it stopped burning. She lay still, breathing, feeling the water trickle down
her hand, the sense of time lost to her.
It was
the relentless press of gravity that caused her to shift. The clammy skin of
her pliable butt cheeks clinging to the floor, she hoisted herself up onto her
feet with one elbow, squeezing her eyes shut so as not to look at the Mark on
her arm until she was ready.
Bandages
and burn ointment were easily found in the first aid kit inside the mirrored
cabinet above the sink, the phone required a trip back into the bedroom. She
treated the burn while autodialing the Whateley Campus Security desk.
“Hello,
this is Doctor Donna Bell,” she hoped the use of her full title would speed
things up, “you have a Sara Waite under protection… yes. Yes, I’m her guardian.
Could you check on her? Yes, I know you’ve got two guards… are you aware that
she’s a psychic? I don’t care what can or can’t get through the wards! Yes, I
am a classified Black level researcher at ARC, I am probably more aware
of what magic is capable of than you are. Oh, you’ve done the training course?
Look, sugar, either A, you check on Sara Waite now, before she implodes in the
middle of the hospital or B, I come over there to personally kick your… DAMN! BITCH!”
She threw
the ointment across the room, the contents spraying across the ceiling, the
soft plastic crushing a white tile from the force of the throw. Tucking the
phone under her ear, holding it in place with her shoulder, she dialled her
second emergency number while slipping into her underwear, jeans and t-shirt.
“Otto? I
know it’s late, but Sara’s… What do you mean you know? It feels like
it’s on fire. Amagata? Of course I feel better. If you knew, then why didn’t
you… oh. That old bas… how the hell did he get on the Board of Trustees? Oh,
you have got to be kidding. Yes, I’ll be right there. Try and stop me.”
#
Several
Minutes Earlier…
“What the
hell’s wrong with her? …is she burning out? …let me see…”
“Out of
the way, girls,” Mrs. Savage, housemother of Whitman cottage, ordered as she
pushed the girls aside. At six foot, she cut an imposing figure as she stormed
through the doorway, despite still being in her knee-length nightgown. She
surveyed the situation with a single sweep of her eyes. Broken furniture, one
of her girls writhing on the ground, clutching her hand in pain, while she
screamed in pain and the roommate screamed in panic. And there is no sound
quite as piercing as the scream of an adolescent girl.
Rolling
her eyes, she gave a long-suffering sigh before getting to work. A good slap
across the cheek silenced the roommate. Grabbing the other girl’s smoking hand
by the wrist, she hauled the screeching girl to her feet.
“Let me
see, child,” Mrs. Savage pried the fingers open, revealing a triangular burn on
the girl’s palm, “What’s your name?”
“G-Gypsy.”
She gasped, tears streaming down her face.
“It’s
alright, how did you do this?”
“I-I
don’t know, it just started burning…”
Savage
considered the girl for a moment, trying to decide whether to believe her. In
the end, though, it didn’t matter one way or the other, “Ok, for now. Come on,
I’ll take you to the infirmary. THE REST OF YOU BACK TO YOUR BEDS!” she shouted
at the gaggle of girls in the hallway.
The
housemother’s shout cleared the hallways in seconds.
#
In a
small café in the centre of Boston, a cute redheaded waitress
stumbled, the drink tray tumbling across the kitchen floor. She rolled around
in agony, clutching at the small tattoo under her arm. As the evening crowd
looked on in shock and surprise, as the smoke roiled up from her arm.
#
Nightbane
had never seen anything like it. Pulsating veins and throbbing tentacles
burying themselves in concrete and brick with ease, chewing through the
building’s stonework. At the centre of the expanding web, the girl shuddered on
the floor, twisting herself into impossible shapes. She was ashamed to admit
that she had given in to her first instinct. She ran, the rest of the Goober
Elite on her tail, Ecto-tek slung over her shoulders.
Everything
was far too quiet in the darkness of the sewers, the biorhythms of the area
disturbed, even threatening. She felt sick to the stomach; the attack was
nothing like she had read about in Englund’s books. The tentacles… the stench…
the pain. Her bones felt like ice buried in her flesh. Her muscles ached like
nothing she had ever felt before. She felt her pulse thunder through her wrists
and neck as her legs pumped, pushing herself and her burden towards safety,
brackish water tugging at her heels.
For the
first time in her life, she felt alive.
#
“Can’t
this thing go any faster, Major?” Otto glared at the blackened playing card in
his hand as the countryside screamed past in a blur of motion. ARC Securities’
UVTOL insertion platforms, affectionately known as ‘Dropships’ by the
engineering team, partly due to their slight resemblance to the vehicles
popularised in various sci-fi movies over the last twenty years.
“ETA in
five, Sir,” Amagata replied, quickly checking his rifle and armour. Looking up
at the balding doctor, he reached over to pat his shoulder, “She’ll be all
right, Otto. That one has an instinct for survival.”
The
soldier sounded so sure that Otto simply nodded, still fretting when his phone
beeped. With practiced ease, he tapped the send/receive button on his earpiece,
“Donna. Yes, I know, I’m en route with Major Amagata. How’s your arm? … Feel
better? … Whateley R&D’s kicking up a stink over our exclusive rights on Sara,
the Board of Trustees is backing them up with Englund’s support. According to
the contract, our hands were tied. … Take a breath and calm down, Donna… Money,
he’s one of the founding fathers, and an old friend of the Mystic Six. He and
Totem had a falling out, though, after Cirque passed on. He’s funded by the
United Churches Consortium, which includes money from the Inquisition. … I’m
afraid not, are you leaving now? … Good, I’ll meet you there, then.”
“Problems,
Sir?” Amagata inquired as Otto hung up.
“Not for
us, Major. It seems reinforcements are on the way.”
“You
certainly know how to sweet talk a soldier, Sir. Four minutes… just enough time
for a final briefing.”
Otto
nodded, the pilot giving them both the thumbs up as they filed out back into
the passenger compartment. ARC Security personnel were culled from the best
professional soldiers on the planet. CIA, SAS, Navy Seals, Seattle Knights, The
League, MI6, Mossad… their professionalism was obvious in the way they carried
themselves. Looking at them now, seated quietly while checking their equipment,
they waited for the red light overhead to flick to green with inexorable calm
and inhuman patience.
“Listen
up,” Amagata never yelled, yet nobody ever disobeyed his orders, “lets go
through the brief one more time. Your orders are to secure the infirmary and
take charge of Sara Waite; you all have her picture in your HUD. We don’t know
whether hostiles have captured her or are still inside the building, so be
cautious but only use force if absolutely necessary. Remember this is a school,
not a war zone, but don’t take chances. Any hostiles encountered will be
assumed to be Mutants and you are to react accordingly. Once the area is
secure, Dr. Otto’s medical staff will land. Anything else, doctor?”
“Yes,”
Otto stepped forward, “I would like to reiterate that this is not a war zone.
The target that you are protecting, no matter how she may appear when we
arrive, is a scared little girl, perhaps in a severe amount of pain. Whatever
you do, approach her cautiously and do NOT touch her without my express orders.
I will handle that end of the operation. That is all.”
The
doctor held onto the overhead rails as the ship descended, gravity dampening fields
leaving him with a vague sensation of movement while allowing him to stand
despite the g-forces that should have been involved.
The point
guard were off the ramp before the Dropship had even touched down, covering
their fellows as they filed off two by two, making a beeline for the Infirmary.
Otto sat and waited, watching the ominous old building intently, feeling the
age of the ground underneath his feet. Local lore claimed that the Miskatonic
valley was one of the oldest geographical locations on Earth, the psychic
echoes Otto felt thrumming through it only supported that idea.
“Hospital
secured, Sir,” Amagata’s voice sounded over his commlink, “Sara Waite is in a
hallway, suffering from some sort of toxic attack. The staff on this level have
been tranquillised, and a teacher just admitted a student for a burn mark on
her right hand. I have one of my medics treating her now. Two guards and a duty
nurse had been rendered unconscious at the scene; all three have been secured
in the staff office. And the Headmistress is waiting for you in the lobby.”
Otto took
a deep breath. He hadn’t expected to have to deal with Elizabeth yet, “Tell the perimeter guards to watch for
the arrival of more of the faculty staff. I want to know the instant
they spot Englund.”
“Yes,
Sir.”
The
doctor sighed as he stepped off the boarding ramp, following the ARC medical
personnel as they ferried equipment into the building. Carson was waiting for him at the door, glaring, “Took
you long enough.”
“I had
some political difficulties, you know how bureaucracies are,” Otto grimaced,
“how is she?”
“From
what I can tell, in a lot of pain. Don’t worry, nobody’s touched her.”
They
stepped over the threshold together, into the pale white light inside. Otto was
so used to the antiseptic smell of hospitals that he no longer noticed the
acrid aroma. However, the usual smell had been contaminated with the stench of
a sewer.
Elizabeth growled, “I’ll give you three
guesses where the attackers entered the building. I’ve got our two best maintenance
men sealing the breach.”
Otto
nodded again as there didn’t seem to be anything to say. Carson led him down the hallway towards Sara’s
room, ARC personnel crowding the area. At last, Carson pulled back the plastic blinds that
separated the scene from the rest of the building.
“The
tentacles have rooted themselves into the foundations,” Carson pointed out the pulsing veins, “there is no
way we can budge her.”
“Get
everyone back,” Otto sighed, pulling several vials of red liquid from his
jacket, along with a strip of yellow paper and a writing brush. Carson glared at the bystanders, urging them back
while Otto worked, scribbling symbols over the paper. A flick of his wrist and
the paper ignited, burning blue between his fingers. “I’m sorry, Sara.”
He cast
the burning fragment onto Sara’s stomach. Otto’s only reaction to the sudden
explosion of light that accompanied his charge’s fresh screams was a tightening
of his deadpan expression. When it was over, he picked the small girl up in his
arms and carried her back into her room, laying her gently on the bed and
extracting the tube from her ribs.
“Ingenious.
Carson, look here,” Otto waved the
Headmistress over, “obviously the work of a gadgeteer. Cast carbonised plastics
with surgical steel injection blades and a pressure-based release system.”
Carson took the instrument, “What was in
it, though?”
“That is
for my lab boys to determine,” Otto examined the dark veins that writhed under
the girl’s translucent white skin, “but my first guess would be faerie blood.
See the silver residue on the glass?”
“Is it
lethal?”
“To you
or me? Unlikely. To some demons and spirits, probably. Vampires and undead,
almost certainly. To something like Sara? Certainly not. Her kind used to
consider pixies an appetizer a few million years ago.”
Carson blinked, “Then what’s happening
to her?”
“Most
likely, her body’s trying to eject the DNA. I can understand how someone would
make the mistake that this condition was lethal, it does look more than
moderately disgusting, and fey energies do oppose the energies of the Great Old
Ones.” He fished a Swiss army knife out of his pocket and tested one of the
black veins, puncturing it with the tip of the blade.
Nothing happened,
the cut simply vanished as soon as it was inflicted.
“Interesting,
and yet vexing.” Otto growled, “I should have been faster. Get my team in here;
I want a full scan now. Can you take me to see the other girl that was admitted
tonight?”
Carson nodded. She led the balding
research chief back down the hall, past the ARC soldiers and doctors hastily
assembling their equipment. She left him at a door to a small surgery and a
moment later he was inside looking down at a dark-haired young girl who
scratched the bandage around her hand.
“I
wouldn’t do that, it won’t heal properly,” Otto smiled benignly. He didn’t feel
like smiling, but he tried anyway.
“Um…
sorry…”
“I’m
Doctor Otto, Sara Waite’s physician. What’s your name?”
“Gypsy.”
“Good
name,” Otto adjusted his glasses, “What can you tell me about Sara, Gypsy? Did
she put the mark on your palm? It really burned tonight, didn’t it?”
The
girl’s already large eyes widened noticeably, “Oh my god! How did you… what…
why? Please don’t tell anyone…”
“Shhh,”
Otto sat in the chair opposite, “not to worry, your secret’s safe with me. Tell
me, did Sara put it there on purpose?”
Gypsy
looked straight into his eyes, “We made a deal… or, rather, I did. With
Kellith.”
“Ah,”
Otto nodded, “so, Sara had nothing to do with it?”
“Yes… no…
I don’t know, it’s hard to explain,” she shook her head, looking down at the
floor, thoughtfully, “We were giving a demonstration of palmistry. When I took
her palm, I sort of got lost in her… I don’t know how to explain it. Past,
present and future, everything she is, was and will ever be merged into one. It
identified itself as Kellith and asked me what I wanted. We made a bargain, I
got my confidence. In return, I’m hers, body and soul.”
Otto felt
a bad taste enter his mouth, “So, Kellith is already playing goddess is she?
You are a very lucky girl, as most lust demons would have had you fifteen
pounds heavier by now. Beginner’s luck, I’ll never know.”
The
girl’s wide eyes bugged out, making her resemble a frog for a second,
“B-b-b-but… I don’t…”
“You do
now,” Otto shook his head, “Sara’s one of the good ones, though. However, you
could have made a better choice. Demon wishes tend to be a mixed blessing, you
see, particularly from ones like Sara. You’ve made your bed and now you’ll get
to sleep in it, it’s far too late for regrets. Here…” He stood and handed her
his card, “If you ever need help or if anything happens and you need to talk to
someone, call me.”
Gypsy
stared at the card, then up at the closing door. She was alone again, staring
at the card in her hands. Could he really be serious?
Nah, Gypsy shook her head, laughing at
the idea, it’s not like Sara…
She
winced, her nipples suddenly painfully erect, digging into her bra. The thought
of Sara’s lithe body made her feel gooey inside. She felt her cheeks turn red
as she crossed her legs, trying to block out the feeling of dampness between
her thighs. She thought she felt something twitch low and deep in her abdomen…
Images of
Sara pressing herself against her filled her mind, pushing away other, more
immediate, worries and pains. Clutching her hands to her breast, she was
surprised to discover that she was panting, hot and flustered. She ran over to
the sink and splashed cold water in her face.
Her own
image in the mirror looked pale and drawn, the dark red circles under her bloodshot
eyes almost like… almost like makeup. As she stared at the reflection,
something seemed to shift. A ripple, very slight but there in the surface
itself.
Tentatively,
she reached out to touch the glass… and it moved.
The first
tentacle grasped her throat, peeling out through the mirror as if it were made
of mercury, choking her, pulling her closer…
#
Saturday,
21st October, 200608:00am
“Nikki?
Nikki, it’s Ms. Horton,” the gentle, feminine, rap on the door hammered Fey’s
tired brain, “there are some people here to see you, it’s rather urgent.”
Chaka
groaned in the other bed as Nikki slid her legs into the freezing morning air,
rubbing her eyes. Wrapping her blanket over her shoulders, she scampered across
the room, wincing as her bare feet touched the floor.
“Ms.
Horton?” Fey slowly opened the door, peeking though. The matronly lady was
there, all right, along with two soldiers in black armour. The presence of
their guns snapped her fully into reality, adrenaline chasing away the cobwebs,
“What’s going on?”
“They
need all of you at the infirmary… I thought you would be the best person to
wake the others, so I came here first.”
Nikki
nodded, running across the room to her wardrobe, throwing a pillow straight
into Chaka’s stomach on her way past her bed.
“YAK! Wha’
tha’ ‘ell, Nikki???”
“Get
dressed, Sara’s in trouble.”
Toni
threw back the covers so fiercely that Nikki felt the breeze on the other side
of the room. Dressing as fast as possible before splitting up, they fished the
other members of Team Kimba out from their usual Saturday morning slumber. Five
minutes was all it took, a world record by any standard, for the girls to be
winging their way across the lawns.
“Wha...”
Jade gasped as they caught sight of the lawns around the hotel, “Are they
gunships?”
“Shouldn’t
have left her... shouldn’t have left her…” Nikki shook her head, brow creased
with worry.
Otto was
there to meet them at the door, “Stop, girls, stop.”
Something
about his demeanour made them comply, even the usually intractable Tennyo.
“I could
feel you all getting closer from halfway across the school,” Otto sighed, “Please,
all of you must try to remain calm. Sara is in a stable condition at the moment
but she is, for lack of a better word, comatose. I will take you to see her,
but please steel yourselves for the worst.”
With that
sort of warning, the sight of Sara’s prone form lying peacefully on the gurney,
draped in hospital blue sheets, was anticlimactic. Aside from the pulsing black
veins covering her face, of course. Most of the furniture had been taken away
to make room for the equipment, several technicians monitoring arcane
holographic displays.
Otto
stood at the head of the bed, absently stroking his patient’s slime-crusted
hair, “Sara was attacked by an unknown group. They hacked the security system,
so we have no data on the attackers other than the physical evidence our
response team collected. However, we do have the device they used for the final
blow.”
He
reached into his lab pocket and fished out a plastic bag. The instrument inside
was steel, similar to some of the equipment lying around in that very room,
with a clear plastic tube visible in the framework. The reservoir was obviously
empty, dark residue clinging to the inside in spots. Three barbed needles
extended from one end, making extraction from a normal human being an act of
murder.
“GOD DAMN
IT!” Toni turned and punched the doorframe, splintering wood. Chou stepped back
and grasped her shoulder, a silent reminder of the Martial Artist’s dignity. Jade
was busy hugging Tennyo while Hank stepped up behind Nikki, rubbing her
shoulders, a grave look on his face.
Nikki
sighed, holding it in, as she looked the body over, “Where’s the wound?”
“In the
chest, where the heart should be,” Otto pointed, “but you don’t want to see
that.”
“I… I
think I should,” Nikki gulped, “I might be able to identify what was in there…”
“We know
already,” Otto said softly, “but if you still want to see, I won’t say no. We
don’t really understand these effects, Sara is an alchemical life form, any
help you could give us would be welcome. But I warn you again, it’s not
pretty.”
Nikki too
a deep breath and eased Hank’s hands off of her shoulders, she stepping slowly
over to Otto, her footsteps ringing in her ears as she walked.
Otto
lifted the sheet so she could see.
It took
every effort for Nikki not to vomit, turning away and squeezing her eyes shut,
the image burned into her mind. The wound was a suppurating sore oozing pale
green puss like a burst pimple. Thick, ropy, veins writhed around the raw
flesh, tiny, leech-like, tentacles swimming in the discharge. Suction tubes
collected the excretion, slurping it away as even more poured fourth. All
around the central mass, tiny faces screamed in torment, red eyes blinking in shadow.
“I… I…
What was it? What did that?” Fey swallowed several times, pushing down the
reflux that burned the back of her mouth through pure force of will.
“It was
your blood,” Otto sighed, “Eliz… Headmistress Carson has confirmed that one of your samples was
stolen from the vaults under Kane Hall. She’s over there now, trying to get a
lead.”
“My
blood.” Fey repeated, as if testing the idea for a moment, “My blood? MY
BLOOD!”
She span
around, laughing and crying at the same time, so overjoyed that she forgot
herself and kissed Otto on the cheek, “She’ll be alright! Ergh, but she’ll have
SUCH a headache…”
Otto
blinked. Everyone in the room stared at her as she bounced, grasping Sara’s
hand to pat it comfortingly.
“Um,”
Otto wiggled his tie, trying to regain his composure, “Ms. Reilly, if you could
please explain yourself to us, my staff and I would be very grateful.”
Nikki
paused, looking off into space for a moment before explaining herself, “Ok,
lets see if I can say this right in English. I can see the mistake that the
assassins made, on the surface, Fey Blood is alchemically opposed to the
composition of Demon Ichor. Usually this would mean neutralization… perhaps
dramatic neutralization in the case of some of the lesser entities. An
uninitiated scholar, who may take their observation of one ‘species’ and
extrapolate that behaviour into the others, might assume that all Demons are
alike.
“Sara’s
different. She’s got the blood of the Great Old Ones, pure chaos in solid form.
My blood won’t have that effect… though since she’s not used to it, she’ll be
in a lot of pain, her body’s shut down in order to process the blood and
regenerate the damage caused by the alchemical reaction. I wouldn’t want to be
her right now but she should survive.”
Chaka
turned on her heel, heading for the door.
“Toni?”
Jade called, “Where you going?”
The black
girl stopped, “If she’s going to be all right, you don’t need me here. I have
some questions to ask some people. Think you can keep an eye on her for me,
Tennyo?”
Nikki
gave Sara’s hand one last pat, then moved after her roommate at a brisk walk,
“I’m coming with you.”
“Can’t
let them go off alone… hold the fort, guys.” Hank sighed, right on Nikki’s
heels.
Ayla
rolled her eyes and tapped Chou on the shoulder, extracting a deck of cards
from her pocket, “Good thing I brought these. Want a game?”
The
Handmaiden nodded, thankful for the distraction.
Jade took
the redhead’s place by Sara’s side, holding the hand that peeked out from under
the covers, “What… what’s happening to her, Doctor?”
“As far
as we can tell, she’s dreaming. She entered a state similar to REM sleep a few
hours ago, notice her eyes twitching? Several of our best psychics tried to spy
in, but her anatomy makes any connection with her practically impossible from
this end.” Otto shook his head, staring at her face while he stroked the slime
off her brow, exasperated, “I just wish I could take a look in her head. If I
could just look at her dreams…”
The
laser-red image of the Gate under Whateley and the things that lurked under
their feet immediately popped into Jade’s mind. Sara’s cousins… at once, Jade
was certain that none of them really wanted to know what Sara was going through
at that moment.
Feral
crawled back through the crack between the windowsill and the wall easily in
her spider-shape, morphing back into an eagle to swoop away after Chaka and the
TK posse, floating silently in the currents high above.
#
Somewhere
in Timeless Dreamspace.
It was
pain. The red void ripped her into atoms, then reassembled her so that it could
tear her apart once more. She was choking, drowning in the mucus that swept her
through the heart of the dread universe, bereft of time or law. She swam
through the red, viscous, torrent that sped her inexorably towards the deep
nothingness. Galaxies were her compass, planets the ticking arms of a vast,
infernal, clock that was slowly winding down, collapsing into the centre of the
vast realm unseen by the bacterial infestations that inhabited the tiny,
spinning, effervescence they called the Universe. The current constricted her,
crushing her fragile meat in its folds and warps and weaves even as she
expanded beyond the infinite.
Yet
infinity seemed so small, a bag wrapped in on itself, folded into the wrinkled
layers of an obscene orifice, bleeding it’s vital juices into the great vacuum
that bubbled and fornicated to the incessant piping of hideous servitors,
oblivious to the plight around it. It looked up to see her with clouded white
pimples. Dead, sightless, orbs that could not, nor should not, be capable of
existence in a sane continuum.
Swept up
by the sheer force of that glance, she found the end of the infinite rushing
towards her, a wall of utter blackness that existed without. Her skin melted.
Her limbs withered. She curled up into a pitiful, tight, ball of organic
matter. Mind, body and soul shredded and merged, the matrix reformatted into
something far simpler in order to resist the pain. Existence was pain. Pain
became life.
The wall
was red shot through with pulsing veins of yellow puss. She was breathing
blood, black blood that leaked from her being in pulsing torrents. Generations
of tiny parasites made holy war on one another for the blessed pools of her
lifeblood, supping from the unliving mass. Eventually her blood consumed them
in turn, a world without a universe drowned over countless eons for the
happenstance of a tortured deity.
Floating,
drowning in her own fluids, the deity felt her tiny universe expand as her
blood pressed outward on the confining sphere around her. Reaching out, she
found that she had appendages of some sort and only a vague memory of how to
use them. Pressing against the membrane, it bent outwards as she willed,
weakening, thinning, and stretching. Her universe burst, spilling her onto a
cold, hard, surface that seemed to pull her down against it, resisting her
efforts to escape its embrace.
More time
passed and she became aware that other things besides her limbs could move if
she willed it. Tiny shutters above her upper orifice could open or close,
allowing blobs of colour to appear in her brain. Curious, she tried moving the
stunted club on the end of the sort tentacle in order to change the blobs.
After a while, the blobs started to attach words to themselves, her appendages
began to take on meaning and she herself began to develop something called an
‘Identity’.
I am
alive, she
thought, and I am a she. What is a she?
She moved
her limbs in an attempt to change her perspective, but her form felt too
strange with her ‘head’ hanging between her ‘arms’ towards the ‘floor’. All the
things around her had ‘names’, even things that weren’t there as well. Floor,
chair, wood, carpet, table, stove, kitchen, ceiling, light, candle, wax,
painting, book… the number of things was overwhelming.
Looking
down, she saw that she was dead white. As starkly white as the eyes that had
cast her out of existence and into the Universe of Chaos and Pain. She was
naked, though she knew she needed something called ‘clothes’, and when she
reached back to retrieve the information on where she could obtain some, it
wasn’t there.
He
stepped into the room.
He was
tall on the surface, possessed of wrinkled dark yellow-brown skin with an outer
wrapping of artificially coloured insect excrement. He looked like one of the
bacteria… but he wasn’t, he was older and possessed a vast intellect that
spanned dimensions. He looked at her, his thoughts and feelings radiating
outward in a rainbow kaleidoscope of colour much like his clothes.
Who am
I? She asked,
pushing the words into his mind with ease.
“Your
name is Kellith,” he projected his words as vibrations in the swirling vapour
that surrounded them, vibrations that her skin received and her mind could
interpret as some primitive form of communication, “you are my wife, my female.
You exist to serve my needs.”
Kellith
found that unlikely, but his form was intriguing. She kept her peace, waiting
for more as he approached.
“If you
do as I say, I can make you feel good. Like this…”
She
considered eating his limbs as he reached out, but the way he caressed her sent
shivers down her spine, deep into her soul. Emboldened by her acceptance, he
grasped her chest, kneading the small sacks that graced it.
Kellith
thought she was going to melt again, throwing herself against her husband so
that she could sample more. His fingers probed and prodded her outside
sensuously, his orifice tentacle testing her innards. Her excitement did not
leave him unsatisfied either, purple waves rippling from his body with each new
delight he inflicted.
He span
her around, continuing his ministrations while rubbing himself against her
backside, “You are Kellith my wife…”
What he
did felt too good, she could only groan out her agreement.
“…you
will obey me in all things…”
“Yes…”
“…you
will be who I order you to be?”
“Yes…”
“Good. I
want my wife to be older, more mature, and capable of bearing my young. You
want to carry my young in your belly, don’t you?”
“Yes… yesss…”
Kellith hissed, her form rippling. Deep inside, something pushed out at her
surface, filling out her form, taking her from youth into womanhood. She grew
taller, taller than her husband. Small horns sprouted from her forehead. Her
spine snaked out above her butt, wrapping around her lover to hold him tightly
against her cheeks. Her chest inflated in his rough hands, squeezing erotically
between his fingers. Dark hair tumbled down her back.
He seemed
disturbed, “No… shorter. With bigger hips. Child-bearing hips…”
She did
as he instructed, her need to pleasure him overwhelming her will. It was nice
to know what to do, a relief to surrender herself, to let him use her as he saw
fit. All her worries and fear melted away into a state of acceptance just short
of death. All she cared was that he sighed and groaned in pleasurable agony as
he rubbed himself against her new curves.
The room
was melting. Through the malaise of twisting lava, two perfect hands grasped
her wrists, tugging on her. At first, Kellith thought they were trying to drag
her under, but in actuality they were pulling themselves out. Slowly, another
female emerged from the wall itself, sleek limbs wrapping around her while an
elfin face with flowing red hair took her lips with unbridled passion,
curvaceous legs straddling her hips. Looking over her shoulder impishly, the
elf glared at Kellith’s husband, “You can’t have her. She’s mine… all mine…”
“SELFISH
WITCH!” He grabbed her arms and pulled, trying to separate her from her new
lover, “SHE IS MINE! MINE! MINE!”
The girl
kept her hold tight, refusing to let go, nails piercing skin, “I shall shape
her… she is not yours to dominate! Only I can tame her!”
Kellith
felt her insides tearing apart. On one half, her flesh paled, streaked with
pulsing black veins. One horn expanded and lengthened, curling up into a dark crescent.
Her right eye burned with infernal fire, her tail lashed, her claws and fangs
ached to taste lifeblood, her feet lengthening into bestial paws.
A lock of
red curls caressed her face while her ears grew into a graceful points. A warm,
rosy, flush spread across her face, down her shoulders, back and chest,
darkening into a more healthy shade, her body settling into lush, youthful,
curves.
“NO! I
WILL NOT ALLOW THIS!” screamed a pudgy, thick-limbed, teenager with a
microphone in hand, as he suddenly erupted from the floor, hugging her leg,
trying to drag her down. Another lock of her hair bleached blonde in an
instant, her leg twisting into the slender, tanned, limb of a swimsuit model as
the amateur bully pulled with all his might, his greasy-haired companion
helping reluctantly.
The Demon
screamed as they pulled her in three different directions, the scene rolling
and shifting under their feet as she writhed helplessly. Kellith was bent
backwards over an altar on a cliff overlooking a gaping, hellish, maw as an
Asian girl took up her other foot, bellowing a harsh war cry for ‘The Balance’,
the leg shifting to a honey-like colour, gaining muscle tone like the girl
herself.
Hordes of
others boiled up from the pit, descending upon her like vultures pecking at a
corpse. Each took a piece and wrenched it away, demanding, wanting, and
needing. Money, justice, peace, love, hate, war, sorrow, joy, pleasure, the
requests fused into pure white noise, the high-pitched squeal driving her mad
with pain…
Her tormentors
played with her in a twisted tug-o-war. Her body shifted in the sea of limbs,
stretching and contracting, expanding and deflating as the demonic assailants
vied for the biggest piece. Skin stretched, bones dislocated and liquefied,
pain arcing through every chord of her being once more as the gluttons divided
her up into bite-sized pieces, thousands of supplicants picking at her flesh
like vultures.
Then
someone else was looming over her head.
Sara’s
shadow blocked the torch light as the young Demon Princess grabbed Kellith’s
head and pulled, slicing at her neck with her own claws, “I’m sorry, everyone,
but this bit’s mine.”
She
exploded into a billion motes as Sara severed her head.
Another
eternity later, Sara became vaguely aware of sand between her toes and water
lapping at her heels. Pleasantly tepid water, that normally would be a pleasure
to take a dip in at any other time. Time that didn’t include waking up on the
shores of New Zealand next to Granddad’s old beach
house, white paint flaking off weathered grey planks. He was there as he always
had been when she had been young, rocking slowly to the beat of the wind.
“Granda?”
He smiled
and opened his arms. Sara ran into his embrace, crying like never before,
crying like the eight-year-old girl she appeared to be.
“Shhh,”
he clutched her, rocking her like a baby, “No need to cry, Kellith, I’ve got
you now.”
“S-so
many...” Sara shook, “too many…”
“It’s all
right. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there, your mother’s sorry she couldn’t either.
Our family is old, older than the hills themselves. I’m sorry our bodies failed
you, we were just too tired to continue.”
“It’s not
your fault, Granda.”
“Maybe
not, but I’m sorry all the same. Your mother and I are so proud of you,
Kellith. You’re doing a far better job of it than any of us could have hoped
for.”
“But I… I
can’t control myself… everyone wants and wants and wants, telling me how to
act, how to think, how to work, how to play. When to bleed… I’m not strong
enough to hold it in.”
“Then why
try? Kellith, you are what you are. Don’t bind yourself to their arbitrary
rules, you aren’t one of them, you are an Old One. You are a primal law,
responsible to no one but yourself. Love and life spring from your heart but
these things are not always nice, almost never gentle. Choose your own road,
Kellith, what is it that you want the most?”
“Power,”
Kellith sniffed fiercely, “I need power to help people.”
“Then
take it. Forget the advice, forget the lies, forget the truth. Behind all that
you perceive lies what you need, you have control of your own fate. Let nothing
stand in front of your goal, not anyone else, not even yourself, and you will
achieve it. In this universe, nothing is impossible… look… look at the sky.”
Sara
followed her Granda’s arm up to where he pointed in the heavens. The sun split
in two, lids parting so that the great eye could gaze upon them as it ambled
towards the horizon. Closing on the seabed, the ocean steamed and hissed,
boiling away into billowing clouds. Ever so slowly, towers rose up from the
mists, kelp and other seaweed draped over blunt rooves of gargantuan blocks of
black rock.
A single
figure stepped from the deserted city, splashing and clawing it’s way up the
waterlogged sand. It was large and scaly, gills flapping in the wind with each
breath, dripping slimy mucus with each step. Sharp, horny, scales covered the
body, claws tipping each and every limb, shark-like fangs glimpsed with each
and every contraction of the jaw.
Granda
smiled, lowering Sara back to the ground, “Go to her, Kellith. Your mother has
returned.”
#
Separating
his figurines once more, Chessmaster re-attuned to each with the coming of
dawn, keeping the connections fresh. The picture of Mrs. P glared sternly at
him from across the table in reproof. He ignored it like he ignored the cuts
and scrapes across his chest and back, the remanets of Deathwish’s love bites
from a busy, yet most pleasurable, night.
And, as
always, he fretted over his Lover’s piece, a Golden Queen of their matched pair
to his own King, the dust thick over both models. He had been a piece once in
his own games, before he had gone pro. The days at Whateley had been heady. ‘So
many pawns, not enough time’. Never enough time, he would always say, eager to
play the next game.
He always
won. Almost. Every fisherman has the tale about the one that got away, or so
they say. Chessmaster thought about his ‘fish’, the first game that he had
lost, every single day of his life. The names of his former teachers haunted
his dreams, taunting him with his failure and baiting him with success.
Setting
the Queen down with loving tenderness, he picked up the current game’s King; a
tiny little Goth girl. To look at her outer shell, she was nothing special.
Indeed, Chessmaster often wondered what Mrs. P saw in her. She had potential,
true, but potential is so often wasted.
It
mattered not. Chessmaster didn’t care about the whys; it was enough that Mrs. P
cared about her. That the old bitch’s plan could be ruined with the removal of
a single piece.
Yes, all
that mattered was revenge.
Broken
out of his reverie by the stomping behind him as his partner lurched out of
bed, Chessmaster called out over his shoulder, “When will you be leaving?”
“Two
hours,” the death machine rasped back, pouring himself some liquor, “it may
take us a few days to infiltrate the strike zone. Whateley’s perimeter defences
are tough but I’m sure my children can handle it.”
Chessmaster
nodded, picking up another piece in his other hand, contemplating, “I have
every confidence in them. What of Lady Astarte?”
It took a
moment for Deathlist to reply, downing his drink in one gulp, “I’ll take care
of her myself.”
Not for
the first time in his life, Chessmaster was worried. “Are you sure you can
defeat her?”
“I killed
Champion once, my love, I can kill an ex-sidekick has-been without breaking a
sweat.”
“You’re
underestimating her power.”
“And
you’re underestimating mine. Do not make that mistake again.”
Chessmaster
smiled, tracing the raw scratches on his hips. He loved it when his cyborg
played rough.
#
“Doctor
Otto?”
Otto
paused for a moment, his finger freezing over the tap at the base of the tall
kettle, a tiny wisp of steam dribbling from underneath. Looking over his
shoulder, he visibly relaxed, “Jade. You startled me.”
“Sorry,”
she demurred, scuffing one heel, “Doctor, is Sara going to be OK?”
He
continued pouring as he answered, letting the boiling water dribble into his
cup, “I hope so, Jade. Honestly, I don’t know for sure, despite what your
friend says. However, if what I have read and seen about her is correct, Nikki
should know better than anyone. Would you like some?”
She shook
her head at his offer of another cup, “No thanks. I’m hyper already, that stuff
makes me bounce off the walls.”
“How
about some tea then?” He smiled, “there’s some oolong here. It comes from
dragons you know.”
She
blinked, “Really?”
“Of
course,” Otto nodded, “their power seeps into the leaves through the roots that
invade their chambers under the earth, where they lay sleeping for generations.
Some wait there for the call to arms, when the enemy is unleashed upon the
Earth once more. Have a seat and we can talk a while.”
He placed
the tea before her, heavily laced with milk and sugar. It was sweet and warm,
both of which Jade found she needed on the freezing winter’s day. The sky was
clear outside but for some reason the lack of cloud added bite to the air.
“Sara
tells me that your BIT is stuck.”
Momentary
panic hit her like a thousand volts to the backside. Before she could say a word,
Otto hushed her, “Not to worry, she broke no vows of secrecy. I gathered during
one of our sessions that you are an unexpressed Exemplar undergoing treatment
here… however, my sight, you see, is a little too penetrating at times.” He
tapped his head, clenching his fingers together as if to stop his hand from
shaking.
Furrows
formed on her brow as Jade squinted at his eyes, trying to read what she saw
there, “You look really tired.”
“I
haven’t slept for a few days is all,” Otto grimaced wearily, “our Sara is quite
a handful at the best of times. I see… something inside her that reminds me of
days long past. A glimmer of light buried so deep in a well of darkness. Life
was unkind to Michael Waite when he was alive; in death the world is even more
unkind. Sara fits inside no box, her continued existence defies all rational
thought. Those her enemies do not destroy will be taken by time itself as she
watches. I don’t fear Sara’s death at all, Jade, what I fear is that she will
change, which I guess is a type of death. The Mythos, as we like to call it,
corrupts. They toy with reality and the perception of reality, powered by
formless nuclear chaos most mortal mathematicians have no inkling of.”
Jade
scowled, unimpressed, “I asked her for help and she said she could, but she
wasn’t going to. Could you sit by and not help a friend who was in mortal pain,
Doctor? That’s what it’s like for me. I’m trapped in this stupid, ugly, damned
body and I can’t get out! She hung salvation over my head, then took the carrot
away, just out of my reach!”
“And she
calls herself dishonest,” Otto grunted in amusement, “Jade, if you’d seen some
of the things Sara has, you’d understand why she couldn’t help you. If your
problem was normal, Transmutation is a relatively simple branch of Thaumaturgy.
Ms. Reilley could probably cast the spells necessary after a few weeks of
study. To fix your problem, Sara would have to contact one of the Outer Gods.
And once their seed was implanted in you, you would no longer be the Jade she
wanted so badly to help. She’s watched that process once, I don’t think she
could survive it again.”
Jade
watched the Doctor take a long sip of his coffee, puzzled, “She’s seen it once?
What do you mean?”
He
sighed, “She hasn’t told you about her mother, then.”
“Only
that she died of cancer.” Jade shrugged.
“That’s
not the whole story,” he winced, “she didn’t tell me about it while I was under
oath though… I think I can tell you. Under the circumstances, she’d want me
to.”
Jade
wiggled in her chair, the suspense gripping her heart.
“Michael
wasn’t always a writer...”
#
“There
you are, Greasy!” Chaka put a slender, yet superbly toned, arm around the
pizza-faced nerd, pulling him into a deserted side passage near Crystal Hall.
Hank pinned the little boy to the wall with one hand, taking great pleasure in
exercising his strength, spoiling for a fight. They all were.
“LEAVE ME
ALONE!”
Chaka put
one finger over her lips, “Shush. To tell you the truth, we’re not after you
today. However, you do know where your companion in crime is, don’t you? We
want to have a chat with him.”
He looked
up at her defiantly, “I won’t tell you.”
Nikki
stepped forward, grabbing him harshly by the chin, Aunghadhail pointing out the
cuts and abrasions on his face, “You would defend the one who put these marks
on your countenance?”
“Peeper’s
my friend,” he snarled, thrusting her hand away, “he just gets carried away
sometimes… he’s always sorry later.”
Hank
chuckled, picking Greasy up by the shirt collar, “I thought you were the smart
one. Look, we know he’s lying low somewhere for the weekend. We know you know
where he is and we know that between the two of you, you probably know who’s
out to kill Sara. So spill it, runt!”
Hank’s
not-so-gentle shakes proved ineffective, the gadgeteer squeaking at the height
of each thrust, “Hit me all you want, it won’t do you any good.”
“Ok, back
off, Hulk-man,” Chaka patted Lancer on one muscled arm, “this needs a woman’s
touch.”
Setting
Greasy down gently, Hank backed off muttering something about girls.
Chaka
glared down at Greasy again, right into his eyes, “Take us to Peeper.”
Everyone
blinked. Chaka’s voice seemed to echo in the mind, the command reverberating as
if two or three people had spoken at once.
“Ok, I’ll
take you to Peeper.” Greasy muttered, glassy-eyed, then turned and walked back
the way he had come, the TK posse in hot pursuit.
“What the
hell was that?” Fey whispered.
“Had the
idea watching a re-run of Dune the other night,” Chaka smirked, keeping one eye
on Greasy several feet ahead, “it’s my version of The Voice. I figured I could
channel my Ki into my speaking voice like with the war cry, the subsonics
carrying my suggestion right into the subconscious.”
“So, does
that make you Obi-Two?” Lancer jibed, leaning forward so his whisper wouldn’t
carry in the empty hallway.
“May the
Force be with you,” Chaka grinned, “’cause the Farce ‘ain’t.”
Nikki
patted him on the shoulder, “Don’t give up your day job.”
Lancer
glanced up at the heavens and mouthed the word again. ‘Girls’.
#
“What the
hell happened?” Englund demanded as he paced the briefing room in Goober HQ,
the dejected members of the core elite wriggling in their chairs like wounded
puppies, “Carson was so far up my ass this morning that I won’t be able to use
wooden chairs for a week! And I have to explain the disappearance of one of the
Dream Walkers’ more powerful members to the Council of Astral Magi, and what do
I have as a result? NOTHING!”
No one
looked at the pile of blue ash on the bed in the corner that used to be Nobody.
They didn’t need to.
Nighbane
stood up, standing to attention, “Sir, Nobody’s sacrifice allowed us to deliver
the toxin as was suggested by our informant. If Sara Waite is still alive, it
constitutes a failure of intelligence, not us. She certainly looked like
she was doing a good job of dying when we left her, and we had wounded.”
Englund
glared, “I rely on you to interpret that information. Conformation of that
intelligence was left up to Ecto-tek.”
All eyes
turned towards the gadgeteer/devisor.
He
shrugged, “Don’t look at me like that. Her physical composition baffles all the
ordinary tests, and I never claimed to be an expert in Class X manifestations.”
“But you
said it would work!” Nightbane glared.
“Correction,”
Ecto-tek tutted, “I said is SHOULD work. On the surface, the metaphysics of it should
work. Sidhe blood is a strong conduit for positive energy; Sara’s blood appears
to store that same energy, sort of like a liquid battery. Adding the two
together should have been like throwing a lit match into a drum of rocket fuel.
I can’t explain what went wrong.”
“I
thought the TS devise gave a detailed analysis of everything down to her shoe
size,” Englund queried.
“That’s
the problem, here,” Ecto-Tek reached over and hefted a stack of paper the size
of an ancient tome, and threw it into the Reverend’s waiting arms, “that’s
chapter 7, alchemical composition of Sara’s bodily fluids. The summery states
everything quite clearly if you can understand the Devisor’s notes and have a
degree in Metaphysics, Alchemy and Xenobiology. It’d take a team of researchers
YEARS to analyse the DNA results, the strands are so long the TS devise had to
break it down into an encrypted equation on forty DVDs, and I don’t have the
key. Give me the rest of my life and I just MIGHT be able to tell you what went
wrong last night.”
Scowling,
Englund pulled two Aspirin out of his jacket pocket and swallowed them dry,
“All right, I’ll drop the subject. However, the job has yet to be finished.
What do you suggest?”
Ecto-Tek
stood up and brushed himself off, “I say we do it the old-fashioned way. We
know the Yang energy in sunlight hurts her thanks to Beacon. The Mithril-coated
holy sword also did some damage before she corrupted the enchantments. If our
friends from the Syndicate really want her as dead as we do, I think it might
be time to call in some favours. What we need is going to cost money.”
All eyes
shifted again towards the figure lurking in the shadows. The dark, feminine,
silhouette stubbed out it’s cigarette before replying.
“Whatever
you need, consider it done.”